Christening
by flufflybunny
Summary: Title changed, I finally came up with one I thought was decent. PostEldest, Murtagh coming to grips with who he is and how he is a part of Morzan's tainted legacy. Very angsty. Very weird.
1. Definitions

This is going to be a chaptered Murtagh fic, because I have a delusional obsession with him. Mostly it'll be angsty, with no real bearing on the actual story, but there you are.

Basically it'll be about Murtagh testing his bonds, and remembering all that he's done, generally wanting to die, etc.

Disclaimer: If the Inheritance Trilogy was mine, would this be here? No. And Murtagh would the hero, not that prat eragon.

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Definitions 

My name is Murtagh.

I am called betrayer, oathbreaker, rider of Thorn, bearer of the sword Misery.

Brother of the rider Eragon.

Son of the first and last of the Forsworn.

Broken.

Lost.

Destroyed.

My heart has fallen to pieces, and my soul is torn. Because of him. That—

I fall back against my soft pillow, dark hair fanning out behind me. Hot tears trickle down he sides of my face, however much I long to deny them passage. The despair grips hold of me, and I instinctively reach for Thorn's comforting presence.

My dragon wraps me in a blanket of his love, and the tears fall thicker and faster. I can only hope my master--no! Galbatorix--will not summon me now. If he did, I fear I would not go to him, and that would be our undoing.

I raise my father's sword, Misery, Zar'roc, contemplating its crimson edge. I wonder how it would feel, plunging into my heart.

Would Nasuada, the Varden's queen in all but name, feel it? Would she cry out for me, the memories of our time together burned into her soul?

Or would it be Eragon, my brother? I know better than to expect him to feel any remorse on my behalf. For the Gods' sake, he wanted to kill me himself!

But Thorn…

And despite what I say, I believe that the empire has a decent system, with simply a madman as its leader.

Could I?

No. It would be suicide, and though I am many things, I am not suicidal.

Zar'roc falls with a clatter to my bedside.

I am overwhelmed with a sudden urge to take the sword and destroy it, the last trace of Morzan's tainted legacy fading.

But Zar'roc is not Morzan's only legacy. I am, and everything I do now. All I fought for, everything I believed in, subverted by his tainted legacy.

I take Zar'roc in one hand, heft it, and hurl it to the marble floor.

Sometimes I think Eragon had the right of it, as I stare at the unbroken blade, wishing it gone. But the sword lies there, mocking me.

_Thorn?_ I query. _Up to getting out of here?_

Galbatorix allows me this semblance of freedom, at least. Though Shruikan and Thorn have a tainted, perverted bond, like Galbatorix's and my own.

I swing out of my high window, and fall onto my crimson dragon's back.

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Okay. Um. If anyone actually liked it, could you let know so I know whether to continue it or not... 

Thanks

Flufflybunny


	2. Chapter 1: A Semblance Of Freedom

Wow! six reviews! Some people really are slightly insane. Just kidding--thanks for taking the time to read my little Murtagh-indulgence.

Just to clarify Miz Turwaithiel's valid point about the reason for Eragon wanting to kill Murtagh, this is fromMurtagh's point of view, and at the time, he wasn't thinking straight, just wallowing in a bit of self-pity.

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Chapter 1: A Semblance Of Freedom

Thorn soars through the air as I cling to him, a fragile figure compared to his massive bulk. My dark hair is a banner in the dying light, streaming out behind me.

I was commanded to wear a helmet on these excursions, but it is my small rebellion. No-one would recognize me anyway, not from up here.

And Galbatorix will not fight me on this. Too much bother, for such a small thing, though I would fight tooth and nail for it simply because it is the only concession I could win.

_Stop brooding. _My dragon seems to know what is on my mind—we have discussed these things many times, suddenly stopping for fear of Galbatorix or Shruikan's hearing.

_Sorry. _I say, softly. _Lately I've been thinking about these things a lot._

_It's something to do with the Burning Plains, isn't it?_

_Yeah. _

Thorn seems to understand how much that encounter destroyed me, though Eragon didn't see it. He looked more broken up than I, though inside I was destroyed. That tends to happen when pretty much everyone you ever trusted is out to kill you. I know, I know, it's to save the world and all, but it still _hurts. _

Thank the gods for Galbatorix and the Twins' 'training'. Of course, I didn't see it like that at the time…

No. Don't think about that. Not unless you want nightmares again…

_So…_says my dragon, sensing the dark tone of my thoughts. _That kitchen wench, Mathilde, was eyeing you this morning…_

I grin at my dragon's pitiful attempt to change the subject. _She was 'eyeing' as you so tactfully put it, the massive bloodstain on the front of my shirt. _

_Oh. _That_. Right. _

_Yes, 'that'. _I frown slightly, remembering the cause of that bloodstain. A sparring session with our great King, which lead me to a sudden wish to murder something, whether it be our great King or an omelet.

_All _the kitchen staff had looked at me strangely, and I'd gotten a reprimand from Shruikan for not pretending I was a spy and skulking around in probably the only place I couldn't expect a dagger in my back.

_You're brooding again…_

_Sorry. It's kind of hard not to though, looking at the situation. _

_I know—it's harder for you than me, you know. _

_What?_

_You've seen freedom. I have only the glimpses of your memories. _

I mull this over, looking down at the ruined Palancar Valley. Eragon's birthplace, and, if you think about things rather loosely, my ancestral home.

If you're not going by Morzan's ancestral home, that is…

_Thorn?_

_Yes?_

_Do you want them—all of them? My memories. So you can see what freedom's like. _

Thorn is puzzled, slightly._ Are you sure?_

_If they'll help you, of course. _

_But to relive them…_

_It'll probably make me feel better, anyway. And maybe help stimulate a plan. _

_All right. Thank you, Murtagh. _

I close my eyes, feeling the wind rush past me, and give Thorn everything that has ever happened to me.

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Thanks for reading, same deal as before...

Review, review, review!

Yeah. Now that that's overwith, does anyone have any idea what I could name Morzan's dragon?


	3. Chapter 2: Screwing Up

Hi everyone! This story is not dead--just a little down. I wasn't sure whether I could keep up the angst for another three or four chapters, so this one'll be a bit of a filler. In other words--hardly any angst.

Thanks to anyone who reviewed at all, but especially deathtobeauty (for the pickup) and Rutu (for Morzan's dragon's name--he'll appear in the next chap).

The Dreaded Disclaimer: I am not male and I do not have spots. I like Murtagh, and I would definitely give him more than, what, two chapters! (calms down) Anyway, the pint of me getting riled up is that I don't own Murtagh, Thorn, Galby, Nasuada,or the Inheritance trilogy.

Warning: I use the word 'screwed' here. A_lot._Perhaps too much.

On with the fic!

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I blink, feeling soft tears well up in my eyes. Dammit—I thought I could handle it! The remembrance—oh gods it _hurt. _It hurts, somehow, to remember the freedom I lost, the freedom Thorn may never have—not to mention, Nasuada.

It's insane, fundamentally wrong, that she can affect me this way—she's what, the queen of the Varden now, and I'm the traitor who's destroying them. Eventually, _he _may make me kill her!

Or maybe not; he wouldn't want to alienate me over that.

Not now, at any rate. Not while I was still newly-captured.

My life is _so _screwed up.

My dragon has been listening to my turmoiled thoughts, and he now says, rather quietly, _I'm sorry. _

_What for?_

_I shouldn't have made you remember—you're sad, now. _

_Oh—Thorn, no! _Gods, what have I done? I didn't mean to make him feel this way! _It wasn't your fault; this was bound to happen at some point. I mean, have you _looked _at my past? _

_I just lived through it. _Wryly. Ah well, if Thorn can be wry, he must not be too depressed. I hope.

_So, now that you've seen freedom, what do you think of it?_

Before Thorn can answer, a familiar voice rings through both our minds. _Report. Now. We are not pleased. _

Of course his Royal Highness has no need to introduce himself. I sigh, and am mildly surprised to hear my companion mimic me. He's never done _that _before.

_I've got your memories, remember? _

_Oh. Right. Should we go?_

We turn around in the air, heading for an audience with His Highness.

My life is _so _screwed up.

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You know the drill--r and r, and I'll get back to you asap.

Fluffly


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